Regardless of what you think about Apple and Steve Jobs, this is the next computing platform…

The buzz is looming large about the possibility of an Apple tablet to be revealed this morning. Evidence uncovered by MacRumors suggest the Apple Tablet will be called the “iPad”. The latest creation of Apple will be revealed to an invite only crowd in San Francisco at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts Theater. When they make announcements at this particular venue it means they are revealing something new that they are excited about. According to TechCrunch, Stephen Jobs has been overheard saying about this latest creation, “This will be the most important thing I’ve ever done.”

Tomorrow is the big day for Apple and mankind if we are to believe the hype. Whatever the iTablet looks like, one thing we can all be sure is that the future of how we interact with the Internet and each other is rapidly shifting towards a multimedia engagement (audio, video) that allows us to share content with our social media friends via Facebook, Twitter, et al. Those who rely on static websites using only the written word and still images are doomed. We are no longer just consumers, we are producers and critics who will interact with your message only when you engage us as a community of equals.

Somebody posted an interview on facebook and I wanted to remember this quote to help me in times of need that are certain to come.

As I understand it, into the heart of every Christian, Christ comes, and Christ goes. When, by his Grace, the landscape of the heart becomes vast and deep and limitless, then Christ makes His abode in that graceful heart, and His Will prevails. The experience is recognized as Peace. In the absence of this experience much activity arises, divisions of every sort. Outside of the organizational enterprise, which some applaud and some mistrust, stands the figure of Jesus, nailed to a human predicament, summoning the heart to comprehend its own suffering by dissolving itself in a radical confession of hospitality. —Leonard Cohen

Last night for the first time ever, my 11 yr old son watched an entire football game. He really was into the game and was crushed when Colt got hurt. We got to know him as a skinny, quiet kid as a freshman and the kids have adored him for the last 5 years. But, he became very excited when Garrett came in just like he did in the mopupdutyearlierintheyear.SinceIteachatLakeTravisandknowGarrett my kids have latched onto him like they did with Colt when he was a freshman. Hopefully you can begin to understand what Bailey was feeling last night, the pain and the thrills of an up and down game.

When the game ended he was crushed and wanted to cry, but I told him that Colt and Garrett and the rest of the team felt the same way. That sometimes no matter how scared you may be, that no matter how hard you try to overcome sometimes you lose.

For those of you who know my son, you know how quiet and shy he is. He’s like me, not a big fan of crowds especially if it’s focused on him. Today he had a schoolwide spelling bee in front of a packed gym. He had to face his fear and approach that microphone and bend his long body down and spell words. He said his heart felt like a beating drum.

He advanced through the rounds until only four kids were left. Until he was dug under by the word “subterranean”. He didn’t win, but he faced his fears and did his best. A father couldn’t ask more of his son, nor be any more proud.

Here is intro and link to one of best sports essays I’ve ever read. It’s sad, beautiful, full of tragedy and full of hope.

PASADENA, Calif. – Colt McCoy lined up about 7 yards from his dad, Brad. This was inside the Texas locker room underneath the Rose Bowl bleachers, the Longhorns quarterback missing the biggest game of his career, about to attempt the most important throw of his life.

Colt had the ball and was going to pass it to his dad as a slew of doctors and trainers watched closely. How many times had these two thrown a football back and forth, from their yard in little Tuscola, Texas, to the practice fields of Jim Ned High School, where the dad was the coach and the son was the star?

Colt had just lied to the Texas doctors and said that he was capable of returning to the BCS title game against Alabama. A hit by the Tide’s Marcell Dareus, on the fifth play of the game, had sent him to this locker room. He wanted back out there. So he tried to sound convincing despite the fact his arm felt “like a noodle.”

He hadn’t come this far to sit. Colt McCoy was going to lead Texas to the championship. He believed this. He’d always believed this. When he went down, he said, “We were about to dominate.” They weren’t going to lose, not where the Longhorns had last won a championship in 2005, not against a team against whom they’d never lost, certainly not 37-21, as the scoreboard would show after 60 minutes.

Yet on the TV in the corner, he had seen it all fade away in his absence. Alabama was rolling; Texas’ early lead was long gone.

So Colt gripped the ball, stared at his dad and thought, “It’s just a simple throw.” He threw. The ball went soft and wide. Everyone grimaced. “Give it to me again,” Colt demanded. Brad got the ball and gave it back to his son. The next throw was the same, bouncing harmlessly away. “Give it to me again,” Colt said, again. Brad did.

It was the same. It was over. Colt couldn’t throw it 7 yards to his own father. “My arm was dead,” he said. The dad hugged his son. The son broke down and cried.

“There’s no pain on my body,” Colt said later. “If I was a free safety, I’d go out there and make a tackle. I [just] have no strength to throw a football.”

Festival of Abraham

Here’s something that could never have happened in the Naughts but will maybe be possible in the Tweens or Teens — if there’s a breakthrough in the Mideast peace process. The idea is an arts festival that celebrates the origin of the three Abrahamic religions: Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Every year it could be held in a different location; Jerusalem would obviously be the best place to start.

In Ireland, at the height of the “Troubles,” it was said that the only solution for rabid sectarianism was to let 1,000 punk-rock bands bloom: music helped create a free space for dialogue (of a high-volume variety). So no politicians allowed. Artists only.